


Queen's Gambit

by Heavyheadedgal



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 12 dimensional chess, Episode Tag, F/M, Ficlet, Missing Scene, Murder and Mozzarella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wine, women, and chess: Jack and Phryne spend a quiet evening together and come to an understanding. An short episode tag to Murder and Mozzarella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen's Gambit

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly between 3x03 and 3x04 our dynamic duo have had some kind of conversation about what's going on between them. I've always wondered what happened after Jack brought that bottle over, and then I thought about how they play draughts, and, well, this happened. 
> 
> "Queen's Gambit" is the name of one of the most well-known opening moves in chess. I know the rudiments of chess, and did some wikipedia research for this story, but if any of you are chess grand masters, try not to pay too much attention to the technical stuff, it probably won't bear up under scrutiny. I was more concerned with symbolism than strategy!

Jack was standing before her, holding a bottle of red wine, and Phryne found herself blinking back unexpected tears. He returned her gaze steadily, with that quiet smile of his, and she knew she needed to break the moment’s intensity. She stood up, gesturing to the sideboard. “Why don’t you do the honors, Jack?” She went to the gramophone and removed the record. No more Italian this evening.

He handed her a glass and she took a meditative sip. They usually drank whiskey, or scotch, or one of Mr. Butler’s excellent cocktails. The wine was much better than the last red they had shared – her personally crushed “vintage” from Maiden Creek. This bottle was subtle, complex, and rather dry.

She was finding it inexplicably difficult to look him in the eye – she was too full of feeling, and had no words for any of it. She was afraid it would be written on her face. And he seemed changed, somehow. As if he had made a decision.

“Care for a game of chess?” She had no idea where the notion had come from, but it suddenly seemed necessary to _do_ something, anything. He tilted his head in assent. “Why not.”

She set up the board, and he chose white. He made his opening move, and Phryne remarked, “The Queen’s Gambit. A classic choice.”

“My father taught me to always start with a simple, steadfast approach.”

She accepted his gambit, moving her black pawn to the square next to his white pawn.  “My father taught me chess too,” she said, smiling, “In fact it’s one of the more pleasant memories I have of him. Although, when I was a girl, I always thought chess was rather a sad game.” She felt herself relaxing as the wine took effect, and she had something to focus on, other than him. They played casually, without much deliberation. The board began to open up.

“Why did you think that?”

Phryne moved her knight and took Jack’s rook. “Well, the queen was always my favorite piece, and she’s always trapped behind all these pawns.”

“The queen is the most powerful piece on the board. She can go where ever she likes, as far as she wants.” Jack’s bishop captured her knight.

“But to what purpose? It’s all in service to the king.” She blocked his bishop, sensing his plan three moves ahead. “And so often the queen is asked to sacrifice herself, in the end.”

Jack hummed in agreement. His hand hovered over the bishop, hesitant, before withdrawing it again. He contemplated the board for a moment.

“In that case, you should feel sad for the king as well. He’s so restricted he can hardly move, even to save himself.”

“And yet, the entire game is about him.” Phryne sipped her wine, feeling able to meet his eyes once more.

It was a mistake. She wondered if his eyes had always been this blue; how could she never have noticed before?

“What’s the point of winning the game if the king has to sacrifice his queen, and more than half his men to do it?" His voice was low, hushed. "Doesn’t seem like much of a victory to me. He’s alone in the end.”

Phryne wished she had thought to wear a scarf that evening, to hide the swift pulse that must be visible in her throat. She felt very certain they were no longer discussing chess. Jack’s expression was one she had seen before, very late at night, after Sanderson’s downfall. As soon as she met Concetta, Phryne had been afraid that she might not see that look again.

“Whose turn is it?” she wondered out loud.

“I can’t remember.”

She lowered her eyes and toyed with the white rook she had captured from him. “Perhaps we might invent our own rules of play, Jack. Something less…old-fashioned. The traditional game seems rather dreary now.”

He slowly reached out and took her fingers in his. She released an unsteady breath and realized, to her astonishment, that she was blushing. Jack ran his thumb softly over her hand. The rook rolled off the table and fell to the carpet, unnoticed. “I’d like that very much, Phyrne.”

He smiled, and Phryne smiled back, and the clock in the hall struck the hour. He never took his eyes from hers, but said, “It’s getting late.” He released her hand and they stood, facing each other across the chess board.

“Do you have to go?” she asked, more because she wanted him know she would like him to stay, than with any hope of deterring him.

He nodded, regretfully. “I have a long day ahead of me, if I want the charges against Salvatore to stick.” He moved into the hall, and she followed.

“Come tomorrow evening. We haven’t finished our game, after all.”  

He shrugged into his coat and picked up his hat. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather start fresh, since we’re throwing out the rule book.”

Phryne grinned at that. “So would I, Jack.” For the first time that evening she felt calm. She put a hand on his arm, leaned in and kissed him quickly and gently on the cheek. She was gratified by the way his eyes fluttered, the answering flush in his neck.

“Goodnight, Jack.”

“Goodnight, Phryne.”

After he closed the door behind him, Phryne walked back to the parlor and stood over the chess set. She picked up the fallen rook and placed it next to her black king.

“Checkmate,” she whispered.


End file.
